


Between Two Lungs

by likethedirection



Series: Between Two Lungs [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Dave Has Issues, Dave's Inner Monologues Are Potty-Mouths, Finn Is Actually Pretty Good At This, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kurt Whump, Kurt's Self-Esteem Isn't Awesome Sometimes, graphic depictions of bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-21
Updated: 2011-07-22
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethedirection/pseuds/likethedirection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave gets a present that he wishes he hadn't.  Kurt gets a punishment, and does not want to talk about it.  Finn gets a brother, and he really hopes he doesn't suck at this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Louder Than Sirens, Louder Than Bells

**Author's Note:**

> [“Drumming Song” ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3SZ0p05bAlI) by Florence + The Machine is to blame for pretty much this whole thing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his head, Dave saves him every time. In the real world, it's not so simple.

>> _ **Z:** heard u got xpeld, wtf! don worry we got ur back, wait til after practice to come get ur shit. u gon love it lmao_

This is the kind of text message that makes Dave really nervous.

He has probably looked at it thirty times since Azimio sent it to him this afternoon--when would it have been, fifth period?--while he was confined to his room until further notice.  That gave him plenty of time to frown at it, and then try to figure it out, and then stew over it, and then kind of obsess over it, because this is going to be about Kurt.

But then, everything’s about Kurt.  Every fucking thing, since the first time he saw him.  It’s all about Kurt.

And if Azimio thinks he’s going to “love it” right after Kurt has gotten him expelled, that means that this could be bad.  Because this…thing, between him and Kurt, that’s so far away from Azimio and Strando and Waco and all those guys.  That’s Kurt knowing more about Dave than anyone else in the world, knowing the secret to his total and complete downfall, and holding it silently over his head day after day, never giving any sign of when he’s going to let it drop.  And it’s Dave scrambling to hold it all together, and making sure that Kurt never even considers doing that to him, and digging himself a foot deeper into the ground with every moment that they share the same space.

But even if it’s all gone to hell now, it’s still between him and Kurt.  It doesn’t belong to anyone else.  Which is why this could be really, really bad.

Which is why he reasoned with his dad that it would be best to clean out his gym locker today around five, after football practice gets out, because Hummel would be long gone already ( _please let him be gone_ ) and then he could say goodbye to his boys.  His dad is still crazy pissed, which is why he’s waiting for Dave in the car right now, giving him exactly fifteen minutes to get his stuff (just his jacket, really, because he actually has most of his stuff out already) and say his farewells.  And as he heads down the hall toward the locker room, he gets another text:

_> > **Z:** where u at, we ready 4 u_

Which is why his heart is starting to pound.

Because as many times as he can replay the fantasy in his head, the one where he finally, finally grows a pair and barrels in like a fucking action hero, and the guys back off, and Kurt looks at him like he’s something good, the truth is that if it’s bad, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

And then there’s the horrible, totally fucking _horrible_ idea that maybe he’s got it all wrong.  Maybe Kurt blabbed it all as soon as he was out the door, like a dam breaking without Dave there to hold it shut.  Maybe they know now, and they want to deal some punishment, and this is a trap, not for Kurt, but for him.

He has been standing in front of the locker room door for a full two of his fifteen allotted minutes.  There are at least three voices coming from inside.  None of them are Kurt’s.

His stomach twists and his palms start to sweat, and okay, now he might be panicking a little.

He’s seriously considering just turning around and walking out--he doesn’t even go here anymore, they can keep the damn jacket--when the door flies open, and he’s face to face with Azimio.

Whose face goes from a surprised ‘o’ to a crocodile smile in about half a second.  “Man, the hell’s a brother gotta do to get you to answer a fucking text?”  He claps Dave on the shoulder and ushers him in.  “Fellas, we got the guest of honor himself!”

Dressen, Strando, and Waco are all waiting for him with similar glitter-eyed grins, and Azimio shuts the door behind him.  The fake smirk stretches Dave’s face out of habit, and thank God, because this is the second most terrifying moment of his life and he feels like he might actually throw up.  “Boys.”

Waco steps up like he’s the brains of this outfit, and based on some of the stuff that’s come out of his mouth in the locker room in the past, he probably is.  “What up, DK,” he says, leaning on one of the lockers with his hands in the pockets of his letter jacket.  “On behalf of all of us, let me say it’s not gonna be the same around here without you.  And to show our appreciation, we got a goodbye present for you.” 

Dave steels himself and holds his breath, the fake smirk frozen on his lips.

But no one rushes at him.  No one grabs him.  Waco just bangs a fist twice on the locker, then jerks it open wide, and out of it tumbles a mountain of jockstraps and Kurt Hummel.

There’s a millisecond of relief before Dave’s heart sinks.

Kurt looks halfway to passing out, barely standing up and coughing uncontrollably as Waco throws a tight, almost friendly-looking arm around his neck.  He’s still in his gym clothes.  “Tossed him in after seventh period with the rest of the dirty laundry.”

“Figured you wouldn’t get the chance to get your payback after he sicced his daddy-waddy on you, so we’d give you a front-row seat,” Strando chimes in.

“Take it as a reminder who your real friends are at this school,” Azimio adds proudly.  “Keepin’ the homos off your back.”

Kurt has stopped coughing, but no scathing retorts leave his mouth.  He struggles against Waco  and gets nowhere, his eyes sweeping across the locker room at the five of them.  Next to them, he looks small and spindly and breakable.  This time, there is no quiet defiance, no sharp-eyed glare.  He looks absolutely terrified.

“Come on, man,” Dressen says.  “You’re our fucking inspi _ration_.  We at least get a thank-you?”

Oh God.

Dave tears his eyes away from Kurt, looks at all of them, and looks forward again, and this time Kurt is staring straight back at him with huge, frozen eyes.  Just like when he’d--

No.

“Thanks,” Dave mutters weakly, “but anyone finds him in here, they’re gonna think it was me.  I’m already expelled, I’d rather stay out of juvie.  Besides, I’ve got like ten minutes before the old man drives the car through that wall.”  _Now let him go.  Let him go, let him go, let him--_

“Nah, man, we got it all figured out,” Waco says.  “Beiste’s got Hudson running laps for being a retard.  School’s empty.  We can make it short and sweet.  And fairy-boy here isn’t gonna be saying anything,” he jerks the arm around Kurt’s neck, nearly choking him, “ are you?”

“Get off me,” Kurt finally says, but his voice is trembling and it just makes them laugh.

“I didn’t hear a ‘please,’ Miss Manners.  Lay it on me.”

Kurt’s eyes tighten with humiliation, and he closes them for a second, his voice going quiet and low.  “Please, let me go.”

(And in Dave’s head, he is already across that locker room, wrenching Waco’s arm away from Kurt, hissing through clenched teeth, “He said to fucking let _go_ ,” and then standing in front of Kurt as a shield and looking from one face to the next until they leave quietly, and then Kurt is thanking him--but no he isn’t, he shouldn’t have to thank him for anything, ever--and then Dave is magically brave enough to look him in the eye and say, “I’m sorry,” and Kurt gives him that look of angel-faced understanding and says, “I know,” and takes his hand--)

Dave can’t move.

“Now, see, all you had to do was ask!” Waco says, and Kurt doesn’t seem to figure out what that means until Waco is cheerfully rearing back and throwing him forward with a grunt that says he isn’t holding back.  Kurt’s body hits the lockers hard, much harder than he does whenever Dave shoves him, and then Azimio grabs him before he can fall over (“Oh, my bad, forgot your homo nest is over _this_ way.”) and swings him even harder into the opposite row.  He slams into it so loudly that Dave almost flinches, but he can’t.  He can’t do anything.

Strando doesn’t give Kurt time to catch  his breath or nurse the shoulder it looks like he jarred before grabbing him by the shoulder and the hair and pitching him to Dressen, the biggest of them.  He uses the momentum of catching Kurt to turn them half around and shove his shoulders into the lockers a third time,  but then holds him there with one hand and slams his fist directly into his stomach, to a chorus of delighted “Ohh!”s from the others.

Kurt cries out and doubles over, and Dave sort of wants to scream, too.  But his voice won’t come.

It looks like Kurt physically can’t straighten up for a second, and Dressen fists a hand in his hair and pushes.  “While you’re down there, do a guy a favor and suck my balls?”  Kurt jerks back with wide eyes while the others laugh and Dave wants to die.  Dressen tosses Kurt back to Waco, nearly sending him airborne, and it’s one swift movement from catching him to ramming him into the lockers with the full weight of his 250-pound body, wrenching pure pain from Kurt’s throat.

“Little queer probably wouldn’t even know a pair if he saw ‘em,” Waco says, emphasizing with another hard push ( _slam_ , head bouncing off the metal, body lurching dizzily forward) and turning his full attention to Kurt.  “Bet you don’t even have any.”

Two sharp movements: one hand clamping hard over Kurt’s mouth, and the other shooting down between his legs and twisting, _hard_.

Kurt screams under Waco’s hand, and fights, and writhes, and drips with tears, and Dave almost sobs.

“Whoop!  Think I found the G-spot!” Waco crows, and the other three howl with laughter.  Waco leans in close to Kurt and says, “You gonna remember this moment, homo?  ‘Cause guess what the hell we’ll be _lining_ up to do if you open your fucking mouth again.  Got me?”  He punctuates it with an extra jerk that makes Kurt’s voice jump before finally letting go.  Kurt gasps in almost a sob, too sharp to let him speak.  “What, too gay to answer a question?  I said, you _got_ me?”  A second hard-hitting punch to his stomach, and Kurt makes a strangled sound and gags a little before gasping a broken, “Yes.”

At long last, Waco steps away and brushes off his hands.  “Damn right, you do.”  The other three cheer as if he has singlehandedly saved the school.  Waco yanks Kurt away from the lockers by the shoulders and shoves him forward, and Dave barely throws his arms up in time to catch him.  “All yours, Karofsky.”

Dave breaks into a cold sweat, taking in the four expectant pairs of eyes on him and trying in vain to reconcile them with how hard Kurt is shaking in his arms, and how much he wants to just keep him there.  Thinking quickly, he forces another cocky smirk for his friends.  His stupid, scary friends who he kind of fucking hates.  “Think Fancy and I are gonna need some alone time, boys.”

The four of them delight, and Kurt panics, gasping “No,” and fighting so hard that Dave almost loses him.

“Say no more, man,” Waco says, gesturing the rest of them toward the door.  “Teach ‘im.”

They file out, leaving him with hard pats on the shoulder, and he clenches his jaw when Waco leaves Kurt with a sharp smack on the ass.  They won’t leave right away, he knows they won’t.  They’ll be waiting outside the door, watching him as it swings.  He swallows hard, then turns his back to the door, covering Kurt as much as he can, and draws back to shove him, the way he has a million times. 

Kurt goes painfully tense in his arms and cries out when he’s shoved forward, but Dave quickly catches him around the back with one arm and slams his other hand into the locker.  The _crash_ sounds just like he’s thrown him, even as Kurt gasps, unharmed, against his chest.

Outside, his friends laugh and sound satisfied.  Taking another deep breath, Dave clutches Kurt to him--just in case they come back in, so it would look like he’s just in between shoves--and pounds the lockers with his fist again, a few times, leaving enough space between to make it sound realistic.  He isn’t sure if Kurt has figured out what he’s doing, but he has gone still, his muscles so tense that he seems ready to snap in half.

The other players’ voices finally began to fade as they leave down the hall, and as soon as they’re gone, Dave stops, breathing hard, his hand throbbing.  Kurt is still shaking like a leaf, and it sounds like he might be crying, and Dave can’t make himself let go--even if this is scaring Kurt, even if he doesn’t want him close.  He braces one hand against the locker and sort of holds him for a second, not knowing what else to do.

Three breaths, and their breath is the only sound.

(And in his head, he’s holding him tight, kissing it better, keeping him safe.  Whispering into his hair, back and forth between “I’m sorry” and “I lo--)

Kurt’s hands are pushing at him, pushing him back, just like the last time they were alone in here.  Just like last time, Dave lets him go.  Kurt staggers back, one arm curled over his stomach, the other one flailing out until it can press to a locker-- _Dave’s_ locker, but he doubts Kurt is thinking about that--and give him some balance.  The riot of emotions in his face, the anger and confusion and humiliation and betrayal and fear and tear-streaked exhaustion, is enough to make Dave dizzy, and he’s just looking from the outside.

He finds his voice before Kurt does, feeling like there are a million things he should say, one for each feeling.  All that comes out is a quiet, “I didn’t know shit about this.”

Kurt curls into himself even more at the sound of his voice.  For a second he looks like he’s going to cry again, and then like he’s going to scream at him, but when he finally speaks, his voice is soft and hoarse and a little hysterical.  “I don’t…understand you, I don’t…”  He stops, squeezes his eyes shut, swallows.  Opens them again, and they’re angry and helpless, and his voice shakes.  “I don’t under _stand_ you!  God, I--what do you _want?_ ”

Dave has an answer for him, but he will never, ever say it out loud.

“I didn’t tell!” Kurt insists, his voice crackling and low.  “I’m _never_ going to--”

“Why the hell _not_?” Dave shoots back, getting scared now and not quite sure why.  “What the fuck was stopping you except me, huh?  Did you think I was gonna _let_ you just sit there with all the power in the world to fuck up _everything_?  You think if they just slammed the shit out of _you_ , it isn’t gonna be a thousand times worse what they’d do to me?”  Something wells up in Kurt’s face that’s terrifying and heartbreaking at the same time, but Dave can’t stop talking, his deepest fears bubbling faster and faster to the surface.  “You think I’m gonna let you decide when they fuck me up for life, whenever the hell you feel like it?  No fucking way.”

“God, I can’t--”  Kurt closes his eyes a moment, catches his breath.  “I don’t _care_ that you’re _gay_ , Karofsky--”

“Will you _shut up?_ ”

“I don’t care!  I don’t want to hold this over you, I don’t want to blackmail you, I don’t want any of this, I just want you, and-and them, all of you, to leave me _alone!_ ”

“Well _guess_ what?” Dave barked, and he doesn’t even remember crossing the room but now he’s here and his hand is slamming into his locker next to Kurt’s head, making him jump and throw his hands up in front of his chest in a feeble shield.  But his eyes don’t close, and they’re looking straight back at him from inches away, and they’re huge and terrified but so, so brave. 

Dave’s voice drops low.  “You got me fucking expelled.”  He leans on his hand on the other side of Kurt’s head, trapping him with his body _God he’s so close_ , and opens his locker with a jerk of the handle, making Kurt’s frame seize up again.  And Dave is doing it again, doing everything all wrong, but his brain isn’t connecting to the rest of him anymore.  When it’s Kurt, it never does.  “My life is fucking _over_ ‘cause I’m stuck in this cow-town for good, because of you.”  He pulls out the last item, the only reason his dad thinks he came in here.  The leather arm of the jacket brushes Kurt’s shoulder as he pulls it out, and Kurt closes his eyes, shuddering.

(And it’s horrible, but he looks absolutely fucking beautiful, and it would be so easy to kiss him right now.)

Kurt looks like he’s bracing himself for the inevitable slam, and Dave swallows hard, then shuts his locker slowly, with a quiet click.  Kurt’s eyes are still squeezed shut, and Dave almost does it.  Right on the mouth, or on the forehead, even, something to tell him, _somehow_ , that none of this is how he wanted it to be.  After all, this is it--the last moment he’ll ever have with Kurt Hummel.  And he’s already fucked it all up anyway.

He leans in close, and Kurt can feel it, he can tell, because his breath speeds up and he inches back, and one fresh tear slips from the corner of each eye.

Out of nowhere, Dave notices his own eyes are wet too, and he doesn’t bother getting closer, because he knows he isn’t going to do this.  Instead, he just murmurs in a voice that just starts to shake, “Wish granted.”

He’s across the locker room and out the door before Kurt can see him go.

(And in his head, there’s nothing, just his heart in his ears like a drum.)


	2. To See Me Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn wants to talk about it, Kurt does not, and the brothers-to-be finally clear the air.

The first thing that’s kind of weird is that all four of them are here at the same time.  Sure, the four of them usually hang out anyway--usually as five, with Karofsky--but by now they’re usually long gone, doing donuts in the parking lot in Waco’s truck or pulling into the McDonald’s at the end of the block.  (And Finn would be long gone by now, too, except he had to run extra laps for getting distracted and sort of tackling the waterboy.)  But they’re here, and they see him, and they’re stepping up to block his way to the locker room.

They all look awfully proud of themselves.

“Yo, Hudson.  You done makin’ sweet love to the waterboy?” Waco asks, and Finn rolls his eyes because he’s really worn out and has enough going on without having to deal with these guys.

“Yeah, real funny,” he says, but when he tries to go around them, Dressen blocks the way.

“Come on, Hudson,” he says.  “Why don’t you tell us what’s on your mind?  If there’s anything left up there, I mean.”  He knocks on Finn’s helmet while the others laugh, and Finn smacks his hand away.

“Knock it off, dude,” he says, really just wanting all of them to go away.  “I’m just distracted because my mom’s getting married in two days, all right?”

“Mm, mm,” Azimio says, shaking his head.  “Damn shame, too.”

“ _Hudson’s mom has got it goin’ on,_ ” Strando kind of sing-squawks, and Finn’s chest tightens, and he shoves them both, warning, “Don’t talk about my mom, assholes!”

“Ah, pipe down,” Waco drawls, but then another kind of weird thing happens.  Over their shoulders, Karofsky comes around the corner.  And Finn is surprised, but it doesn’t look like anyone else is.

He narrows his eyes when Karofsky gets close.  “What the hell are you still doing here, Karofsky?”

And then the third weird thing happens, which is that Karofsky looks right at him as he passes, and he looks _weird_ , like he’s trying to tell Finn something or like he’s totally freaked out.  Then he glances back toward the locker room, looks at the ground, and leaves without sparing the rest of them a word or a glance.

That must bother the other guys, because they seem to kind of forget Finn is here, and they walk off muttering to each other about what Karofsky’s problem is, leaving Finn to wonder the exact same thing.  Because that was a weird look.  Thinking about it makes his insides feel cold.

And that glance toward the locker room…

Finn has a bad feeling, and he picks up the pace, pausing for only a second at the locker room door.  Maybe that look just meant he’s going to get pranked.  Maybe that’s it.  A bucket of water waiting on top of the door, or something.

Right.

Steeling himself, he pushes open the door, and part of him knew it would be this, but it still makes his fists clench to see.

Only one gym locker is open, and there are jockstraps lying all over the place, inside it, spilling out (which, _gross_ ).  The benches have all been moved out of the way, leaving the space between lockers open, free of obstacles.  And Kurt is sitting all curled up under a locker in his gym clothes, his knees pulled to his chest and his arms curled tight around his torso, his shoulders shaking and his bangs covering his downturned face.

“Kurt?”  He quickly crosses the room, surveying the damage.  “Hey.  What happened?”  Kurt doesn’t respond except for his shoulders tightening up, and worry thumps in Finn’s chest.  “What the hell did he do?”

Kurt takes a shaky breath and shakes his head, keeping his face down.

“Kurt, you’re scaring me, dude.  Say something.”

Finally, he seems to try.  “Can--”  His voice breaks, and he swallows.  “Can you see if they put the rest of my clothes somewhere?”  He sniffs hard, his jaw tightly clenched.  “They usually put them on top of the lockers, or in the showers, sometimes.”

They.  Finn thinks he knows exactly who ‘they’ are.  He pulls off his helmet and kneels down next to Kurt because the clothes really don’t matter right now.  “Dude, you’re shaking really hard.  What the hell happened?”

“I’m fine, Finn, can you please just look for them?” Kurt pleads, his voice high and full and desperate and a heartbeat away from tears.

He looks like if Finn touches him he might shatter, so Finn fights down his instincts and nods.  “Yeah.  Yeah, okay.”

It looks like Karofsky and the others didn’t try very hard on this part.  Finn winces when he finds Kurt’s fancy clothes strewn across the showers, soaked and wrinkling.  “They’re here,” he calls, mostly because Kurt is being really, really quiet and it’s kind of freaking him out.  “But they’re kind of, uh, wet.”

Kurt sniffs again, and it echoes a little in the nearly-empty locker room.  “Make sure it’s actually water before you touch them.”

“Why, what else would it--”  Realizing, Finn immediately yanks his hand back from where he’d been reaching for Kurt’s shirt.  “Dude, _sick_ , really?”

“It’s happened before.”

Grimacing, Finn kneels down and very, very reluctantly sniffs the shirt.  To his relief, he smells nothing, and everything that was white is still white.  “I think they’re okay.  I mean.  Just water.”

Kurt doesn’t say anything, so Finn quietly goes about gathering them up, draping them over his arm and going back around the row of lockers.  Kurt has moved his arms to his knees and buried his face in them, his breath deliberate and slow.  “Think I got everything,” Finn said, a little awkwardly.  “What do you, uh, want me to--”

 “My bag is in my locker,” Kurt says, or at least Finn thinks that’s what he said, but his voice is weak and muffled and he can’t be totally sure.  “It’s number 14B.  The combination is 13-29-10.”  Finn finds it and turns the padlock to the right numbers, and Kurt goes on, “In the bottom of it is a rolled-up plastic garment bag.  It’s big enough.  Just put them in it.”

Finn silently obeys, kneeling down and laying Kurt’s clothes inside the way he’s seen Kurt do it with some of his other clothes--never when they were wet, but he doesn’t know the rules for that, and Kurt’s breath is shaking a little and he can see a big bruise starting to form near the sleeve of his gym shirt, and Finn really doesn’t give a crap about garment bags right now.

“Hey.”  Hesitantly, Finn reaches forward to lay a hand on Kurt’s other shoulder, and Kurt flinches hard but doesn’t pull away.  He’s a little at a loss, just like after Coach Sylvester found out Quinn was pregnant and she cried into his chest for ages, and so he says the same thing he said to her, the only thing that comes to his mind.  “It’s okay.  Everything…everything’s gonna be okay.”

It has sort of the same effect on Kurt that it had on Quinn, but less, because his shoulders heave in exactly one quiet sob.  “Yeah,” he says quickly, and a little broken, but it sounds like he’s at least here.  His breath speeds up, and he sniffs again, then lifts his head just a little.  “I know.  I-I mean, thank you.  Sorry.”  He lifts his head a little more and immediately stretches his thumb and middle finger across his eyes, like he wants to keep hiding or maybe has a headache.  Finn gives his shoulder a careful squeeze, and Kurt murmurs, “Sorry,” again and takes a big breath.  “You should…you can take a shower, get changed.  I need to just sit for a minute.  I won’t look.”

But of course, Finn showering and Kurt sitting would mean leaving Kurt alone out here, and even if he just rinsed off like usual, that would still be five minutes that he wouldn’t be there if someone else came in.  In other words, no.

“I’ll take a shower at home,” Finn says.  “I’ll just change and we can go.  I’ll drive you.”

“Finn, you don’t have to--”

“Dude, you’ve been shaking since I got in here.  It’s okay.  I can pick you up tomorrow and you can get your car after school.”  He tries and fails to catch Kurt’s eye.  “Okay?”

Kurt’s voice is almost a whisper.  “Fine.”

“Okay.  Cool.”  Giving Kurt’s shoulder one more squeeze, Finn gets up to take his street clothes out of his own locker.  He feels a little bad for changing when Kurt is going to have to wear his gym clothes home, but gym clothes are easier to wear around than football pads, and he has a feeling Kurt would be more concerned with smell than solidarity.

He makes quick work of changing, making sure to swipe on some deodorant because he’s kind of self-conscious now that he’s been thinking about it so much, and then picks up Kurt’s messenger bag and slings it over his shoulder.  “You, uh.  You okay to stand up?”

It looks like Kurt has calmed down now, and he finally drops his hand away from his face.  “Yeah.”  He stands up slowly, almost putting his hand on the locker next to him but then pulling away like it was about to shock him.  His arm curls around his stomach for a second as he straightens, but then he lowers it very deliberately to his side.  He takes a deep breath.

Finn offers him a reassuring smile when he looks at him, and Kurt seems to try smiling back, but his face is still red and puffy and his mouth is a thin line and it doesn’t come anywhere near his eyes.  And he looks like he really needs a hug, but he’s also holding his shoulders very stiff like they’re sore, and Finn has a feeling that wouldn’t go over very well right now so instead he just hands him the garment bag of his clothes and holds the door open for him as they leave the locker room behind.

As they near the exit door, Finn can just make out some specks of white in the air--snow flurries, right on time for early November.  He glances at Kurt sort of limping along next to him in his thin T-shirt and shorts, and winces for him.

“Hold up,” he says at last, because if he doesn’t do this, it would be like adding insoles to perjury or something like that.  He sets down his and Kurt’s bags, then shrugs off his letter jacket and holds it out to Kurt, taking the garment bag from him with his other hand.  “Here.  I think your dad would pretty much kill me if I let you freeze to death.  And then it’d be like an epic showdown between him and my mom, and we wouldn’t even get to see it ‘cause we’d be dead and stuff.  And I’m pretty sure the wedding would be off.”

He manages to get the corners of Kurt’s mouth to twitch up a little, but he doesn’t laugh, just gives him that you’re-pretty-weird expression that he gives him a lot before his face clouds a bit.  “Thanks, but, um.  It’s the parking lot.  People…someone could see.”

“Oh, no way, football runs longer than everything else on Thursdays and we’re totally the last ones out,” Finn says automatically, then immediately feels like an asshole when he realizes how that sounds.  “I mean, not that it matters.  I mean.  It’s cool.  I don’t care who sees.”  Crap, that doesn’t sound any better.  “ _I mean_ , not that there’s a reason I _would_ care in the first place--”

“Finn, don’t hurt yourself.”  He looks down to see that Kurt is already slipping into his jacket, and the sleeves hang down past his fingertips and the back is almost even with the bottoms of his shorts, and Finn would probably laugh if he hadn’t totally freaked himself out.  Kurt takes the garment bag back from him, then smoothly picks up his messenger bag before Finn can carry it for him again.  He tries to smile again, but it really just looks a little sad.  “Thank you.”

-

It isn’t until they’re in the car and out of the parking lot that Kurt seems to relax a little, burrowing into Finn’s jacket and looking out the window for a while.  Finn dares to prod him for a few more details about what happened to him, but Kurt really doesn’t seem to want to talk about it, and all Finn really gets out of him are that he was shut up in that nasty jockstrap-locker all through their two-hour football practice, and that it was really the other guys who were messing with him, that Karofsky was just kind of there.  Which sounds weird to Finn, but after that detail, Kurt clamps his mouth shut and is done.

The next five minutes of the car ride are silent.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with this,” Kurt murmurs at the sixth minute.  “I know I’ve been awkwardly emotional all week--and by all week, I mean all my life--but I try to keep my actual meltdowns to myself.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Finn says, really wishing Kurt would stop apologizing to him.  “I want to help.”

They come to a red light, and when Finn glances over, Kurt is looking at him, his face still a little sad and very, very tired.  In a small voice, he says, “It’s all right if you don’t.  Want to.”  He looks away.  “If you don’t want to.”

“Wait, what?  Kurt, how can you even--”

“It’s green.”

Finn presses on the gas again.  “How can you even say that?  That’s--why would you think that?”

“Look.  I know our history has been…charged, at best.  And I hardly expect that to disappear, or for you to become my best friend or designated protector, just because our parents are getting married.  And it’s okay if you’re not overly thrilled about that either.  I may have been busy gushing at the time, but I saw how you reacted when they told us--don’t give me that look, you were seriously freaked out.  Just…I understand, okay?”

He looks down at his lap, poking just the tips of his fingers out of Finn’s jacket.  “Ever since the Basement Debacle and this bullying mess, everyone has been putting a lot of pressure on you to be nice to me.  My dad, your mom, the glee club…me,” he adds, the word staggered by a laugh that really isn’t a laugh.  “And I know you’ve been trying.  I do.  And it means a lot.  But I’m telling you now that it’s okay if we’re not--if you’re not totally okay with me.  It doesn’t make you a bad person, or a homophobe, or anything.  And if anyone tries to tell you otherwise, let me know and I will have a chat with them, and they will stop.”

They’ve been in Kurt’s driveway for a minute now, and Finn isn’t sure why, but the way Kurt is talking has got him really upset.  “Why are you saying all this?”

“Because you’re a great guy, Finn,” Kurt says softly.  “Great enough that I would rather have you as a distant but honest stepbrother than as a guilty best friend.”

Kurt reaches for his garment bag and starts to thank him for the ride, but Finn is definitely not letting this conversation end there, and his hand darts to the side console to lock all the doors.  Kurt pauses, looks at him, then sits silently back and waits.

Finn holds on to the steering wheel for a little bit and frowns straight forward, his jaw set.  A lot of things are flying through his mind at the same time, and they’re all connected to each other and to this, but he can’t sort them out right away, not without taking a minute.

He sees Kurt with ice-cold eyes when Burt was in the hospital, shaking his head at him in disgust when he tried to call them a family.  Raising a finger for _no_ when he reached out to try and make him feel better.  Saying, _“God’s kind of a jerk, isn’t He?”_

Kurt’s face a careful mask when Finn was telling him that singing a duet with Sam would be so bad for Sam’s reputation that he would quit glee club.  Only looking at him once, with a little hurt but not one drop of surprise.  Looking at no one, confident and defiant, when he announced he would be the only one singing in the duet competition by himself.

His face wide-eyed and dead pale as he came out of the locker room before sixth period the day before their performance for Coach Beiste, his hand curled up strangely in front of his mouth, and the quick, wordless shake of the head when Finn asked what he’d been doing in there.

Keeping his eyes down when he was teaching Finn to dance, keeping them down and just letting go when Finn saw Karofsky and dropped Kurt’s hand like he’d been burned.

_“Lay off Finn, everyone.  It isn’t his problem.  It’s none of your problems, actually.”_ Over the course of the semester, sitting farther and farther away.

Finally, Finn looks at him.  “You think everyone secretly hates you, don’t you?”

Kurt frowns, just a little.  “What?”

“You expect people to hate you.  Or at least me.  You think I hate you, don’t you?”

“Finn, that’s ridiculous.”

“Don’t you?”

Kurt looks at him for a bit, and Finn feels a little bad because Kurt still looks beaten down and a little cold and just so _tired_ , but this is important.  After a second, Kurt softly says, “I…I just wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“That’s not what I asked.  Also, wrong.  Just be honest with me.  Have you been telling me all this stuff, and telling everyone I didn’t need to help with Karofsky, and letting me boss you around about Sam--have you been doing all that because you think I hate you?  Yes or no.”

Kurt gapes at him, closes his mouth, looks down, shakes his head a little.  “I…to a degree--”

“That’s not yes or no.”

“I just don’t think you can--”

“Just answer the question!”

“ _Yes_ , okay?”  Kurt isn’t yelling, but it’s the first thing he’s said all afternoon that isn’t a mumble or a whisper, so it feels like he is.  “Yes, I think that deep down, at least a little bit, you do.  And you act like you don’t because everyone in your life is telling you to, and because in two days societal norms will dictate that we should have some kind of connection, and maybe because I’ve made a clear effort to get enough distance from you and Sam and every other guy in the school that you can never accuse me of being restraining-order-worthy again.  But you do.  And that’s okay, Finn, that’s _fine_.”

His tone is getting hostile now, and Finn’s gets hostile right back.  “How?  How is that fine, Kurt?  Is it fine because you think I’m too stupid to know the difference between what I think and what everyone else thinks?  Or, or because you think I’m a total homophobic creep because I called you a bad name once?”

“Twice.  And no, that isn’t it--”

“Then _what the hell is it_?”

“I’m _sorry_!” Kurt bursts out, and his voice breaks a little, and through the anger Finn _really_ feels like an asshole for making him sort-of-cry again so soon after someone else did.  “That’s it, okay?  I’m sorry I, I forced myself into your life and expected you to welcome it with open arms, I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable and then tried to make you feel bad about it.  I’m sorry I was dishonest and manipulative and--our parents deserve to be happy, but I introduced them for the exact reason you thought I did, and I didn’t think it would last because no woman ever lasted for my dad except my mom,”--his voice breaks again--“but it did, and now you’re stuck with me, and I didn’t want to do that to you.  I’m sorry I bitched at you about not embracing their relationship, and then got bitter and selfish when you finally did.”

He takes a shaky breath, full-voiced and wet-eyed but nowhere near done.  “And now everyone’s just decided that all my baggage should be your baggage, and that _sucks_ because you don’t deserve that, if not because it’s horrible, then because it’s _me_.  Because I’m not a good person, and you’ve gotten all the worst of me, and you’re still sitting here after picking up the pieces even though you shouldn’t forgive me for any of it, and God, I just, I’m _sorry_.”  He breaks a little bit, and actually pulls his arms out of Finn’s letter jacket to wipe at and hide his face without getting the sleeves wet.  “I’m really sorry.”

And Finn is staring at him way too long, feeling kind of destroyed and trying to process all that, because the next thing he knows, Kurt has pulled up the lock on his door and muttered something about needing to go and started booking it to his front door with his stuff, nothing left in Finn’s passenger seat except his letter jacket.

Kurt is still fumbling with the lock when Finn catches up to him, the driver’s side door hanging open and forgotten.  “Kurt--Kurt, will you stop?  Just hold on a second.”  He grabs Kurt’s arm, but Kurt winces and jerks away.  His keys slip from his hands and hit the step with a sharp jangle, and he curses under his breath.

“Finn, just go home.  You’ve done your good deed, you’re free.  I told you, you don’t have to do this--”

“I know.”  And as Kurt moves to pick up his keys, Finn swoops in and pulls him tight into his arms, right there on his front step.

Kurt gasps a little, and Finn hopes it’s because he surprised him and not because he’s hurting him.  He sputters, “Finn…”

“I know I don’t have to do this,” Finn says, using his long arms and his height to envelop Kurt as much as possible, keeping him there and listening and not too cold.  “But neither do you.”

“What--”

“Pushing everyone away, trying to do everything yourself.  Making sure you’re always alone so jerks like me can’t call you out.  You’ve been doing it since…”  And wow, he grimaces, realizing this as it comes out of his mouth, “…since I talked to you about Sam.  And you don’t have to.”

Kurt bows his head and doesn’t reply, but his shoulders are relaxing just a little, and that’s something.  “And I don’t hate you,” Finn says, his voice softening to almost a whisper.  “I don’t understand you all the time, and you used to kind of drive me nuts, but I never hated you.  And maybe you messed up a few times, but we both did.  So…so here.”

He starts to pull back a little, but stops when he realizes Kurt’s arms have clamped around his back, holding on really, desperately tight, his fingers digging in.  He hadn’t even heard his bags hit the ground.  Finn swallows hard and gently runs his hand once up and down Kurt’s back.  “I’ll forgive you for kind of stalking me, if you’ll forgive me for…for making you feel like you deserve not to be happy.  And for not saying anything when you started believing it.”  Finn gives him a squeeze and smiles a little.  “Okay?”

Hesitantly, Kurt nods.  “Yeah,” he whispers.

“Cool,” Finn says.  “So.  Gonna do this.  Okay.”  He clears his throat.  “I, Finn Hudson, apologize for being a big, dumb, kinda homophobic asshole, and forgive you, Kurt Hummel, for being a creepy stalker.”

A teary laugh shudders out of Kurt, and Finn totally counts that as a win.  Sniffing, Kurt shakes his head a little and parrots back, “I, Kurt Hummel, apologize for being a creepy gay stalker, and forgive you, Finn Hudson, for being an asshole.”

“Uh-uh, whole thing, dude.”

Kurt laughs again, a little easier.  “A big, dumb, homophobic asshole.”  He sniffs again.  “Who looks really good in red shower curtains.”

Finn chuckles and is really relieved, because he was starting to worry that Kurt had totally forgotten about that.  They stand there for a while longer, and this is definitely the longest hug Finn has ever given in his life, but Kurt seems like he kind of needs the longest hug ever right now anyway, so he lets Kurt decide when they’re done.

Kurt takes a deep, slow breath and pulls back a little but doesn’t quite let go.  “God.  Two meltdowns in one hour.  Bet you can’t wait to be related to this.”  He shakes his head, swiping at his eyes.  “Sorry for pelting you with feeling-vomit.  I think I’m just kind of completely wretched in every way today.  It’ll pass.”

Finn gives him another little squeeze and tells him what his mom always told him when he was younger and he caught her crying in the bathroom.  Kurt seems like someone who would cry in a bathroom, but only if no one was in the house to hear him.  “Sometimes it’s just a bad day.”

“Yeah.”

Kurt finally pulls away, and they stand there a second with a general feeling of ‘now what,’ and after that second Kurt looks over Finn’s shoulder and says, “You’re just begging the little heathens next door to take a joyride in your car.”

Finn looks back.  “Oh.  Wow.  Yeah, I should…yeah.”  He lopes back to his car to turn off the engine, but shuts the door instead of getting in, something occurring to him.  “Hey, Kurt?”

He’s managed to get his front door open without trouble this time, and looks back over his shoulder.

“Is it cool if I hang out here for a while?”  He scuffs his foot against the driveway, a little embarrassed.  “All my aunts got in town yesterday, and they’re staying at my house to help my mom get ready for the wedding and…it’s kind of horrible.”

Kurt smiles, and it’s still weak but it touches his eyes just a little this time, and he nods.

-

As soon as they’re inside, Finn parks it on the couch to call and check in with his mom while Kurt goes downstairs to take a hot shower and change.  As soon as Kurt is out of the room, Finn’s stomach growls and he remembers, oh yeah, it’s totally dinnertime and football practice makes him want to eat _everything_.

And he remembers that Kurt’s house barely has _anything_ that you can just heat up in the microwave, and Finn hasn’t been allowed near stoves since the Chicken Disaster of 2009, and he really, really doesn’t want to make Kurt cook anything for him after his double-meltdown, especially since he kind of caused one of them.  It takes about three seconds after making these realizations for him to pull out his phone and hit number 8 on his speed-dial.

He’s back on the couch and looking through one of Burt’s car magazines when Kurt comes back up (still kind of limping, like when Santana kicked Puck in the balls that one time, and Finn really doesn’t want to think about why that would be), and Finn has to double-take at the sight of him not in his fancy silk pajamas, but just some really soft-looking gray sweatpants and a Hummel Tires & Lube T-shirt.  Kurt rolls his eyes.  “You may tell no one about this.  It’s just been a long day.”  He drops down cross-legged next to Finn on the couch and opens up his wedding binder.  “You can watch TV, or…”

“Is that, like, your wedding master battle plan in there?”

Kurt looks at him, a little amused, and nods.  “I’ve been adding to it off and on since I was nine.  It was the first time I was brave enough to ask my dad about what his wedding to my mom had been like, and the first time he was strong enough to tell me.  I took notes, and then added some of my own ideas later, and the rest is history.”  He lifts the pages to show Finn the first one, which is indeed a fully illustrated list written in careful, only slightly wobbly cursive on a sheet of spiral notebook paper.

Finn laughs, holding the page up to keep looking at it while Kurt keeps flipping through.  “How was your spelling already better when you were nine than mine is now?”

“I was a lister,” Kurt says, really smiling for the first time all afternoon.  “As soon as I could write, I started making lists of everything.  On everything.  I’m told it was adorable, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it was extremely annoying.”

He starts making marks on the page he’s on, and Finn drops the stack to look.  “What are you checking off?”

“Calls made today.”

Wait, that doesn’t make sense.  “Uh…when?”

“I spent lunch hour fighting a losing battle with the owner of the venue about doves, messes, and the mechanics of glitter-digestion.  Sadly, the doves are out.”

“Okay, but you just checked off  like four different calls.”

Kurt bites his lip, then sheepishly meets Finn’s gaze.  “It’s entirely possible that I nailed down the floral arrangements, reached a prayer compromise with the pastor, and confirmed with the caterer from inside a gym locker.”

Finn gapes at him.  “Wha-- _seriously_?”

“Well, I was in there for two hours!  I had things to do before the stench overtook the oxygen.”

It’s kind of the saddest and yet most ridiculous image Finn can imagine, and it’s so totally _Kurt_ , and Finn can’t help it.  He bursts out laughing.  “Oh my God.”

“Yes, please, laugh at me.  It makes my day just that much brighter.”

But Finn is wrapping an arm around Kurt’s shoulders and kind of side-hugging him, saying breathlessly (but still laughing), “Dude, I’m so sorry.  That sucks.  That…wow.”

Kurt looks like he wants to glare at him, but his mouth is twitching, and he finally exhales a half-laugh, shaking his head.  “Honestly, that image?  Pretty representative of my life right now.”

That just makes Finn laugh even more helplessly, because seriously, this poor guy.  Kurt laughs with him a little longer (and it sounds like the moment when it’s been dim and stifling-humid and airless all day and then, _whoosh_ , the rain comes), then elbows him when he doesn’t stop, and that doesn’t help at all, just makes his side hurt even more.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m trying to stop,” he gasps.  “Just--that--dude, you’re kind of amazing.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, but he’s been smiling for like five minutes now.  “Today?  Not particularly.  I’m turning the page now.”

And it sobers Finn up a little bit to hear him say that, because once upon a time Kurt would have agreed that of _course_ , he was totally amazing at everything he ever did.  And that puts an idea in Finn’s head, which also puts a song in his head, which makes him think, _hey_.

His train of thought is interrupted by the doorbell, and Kurt frowns, but Finn springs off the couch and grabs his wallet because he knows exactly who it is. “Don’t get up, I got it.”

“Finn, we’re at _my_ house, remem--”

“Dude, don’t worry about it.”

And the way Kurt’s jaw drops when Finn comes in with two hot pizza boxes and a container of breadsticks and a two-liter of Mountain Dew almost sends Finn into another laugh-attack, but he manages to restrain himself.  He sets the boxes on the dining table and opens them up--half Meat Lover’s and half Supreme with stuffed crust for him, thin-crust Veggie Lover’s for Kurt because that’s kind of healthy, right?--and grabs two of the big plates they use for Friday night dinners.  “Dish up, dude.”

Kurt sputters a little, like he can’t fathom the idea of pizza in his house as food he is expected to eat.

Finn puts two slices of the veggie pizza and a breadstick on a plate and pushes it into his hands.  “Kurt, you’re gonna eat.  You just said you were fighting with the reception guy about doves all through lunch.  When’s the last time you ate something?”

Kurt stares at his pizza and thinks about that a little longer than Finn likes before muttering something about an apple this morning.

After filling two cups with Mountain Dew and stacking five slices and two breadsticks on his own plate, Finn plunks back down and digs in, keeping an eye on Kurt until he starts to nibble on a pizza slice.  “Hey,” Finn says, then swallows his food when Kurt makes a face.  “You wanna watch something?”

“The remote is right next to you, Finn.”

“No, I mean, like, remember when you were telling me there was this one musical with lots of hot chicks who shoot people and stuff?”

“…Chicago?”

“THAT.  That one.  We could watch that?”

“Um.  Yeah, okay,” Kurt says, a note of surprise in his voice.  As he kneels (carefully) down to pick through their DVD collection, he says, “It’s hard for me to believe that Rachel hasn’t forced this musical on you by now.”

“Yeahhh, I kind of might have said the black-haired chick on the cover looks a little bit like her with bigger boobs, and, um…that was kind of the end of that.”

“Wow, Finn.  Way to use your internal filter.”

“Yeah…I think?”

“Never mind.”

Kurt sits back down, pulls his plate back onto his lap, and starts the movie.

And Finn finds that he actually kind of likes this.  Just hanging out with Kurt, who answers all his questions about the movie (a breath of fresh air from Rachel, who gets irritated whenever he interrupts her running commentary), actually pausing it once to explain, in small words, why all the songs kind of happen in two places at the same time.  Finn smiles triumphantly to himself when he sees how fast Kurt’s pizza slices and breadstick disappear once he’s distracted.

Kurt sits very quietly and lets Finn take in the entirety of the absolute _awesome_ that is the Cell Block Tango, making no comment when Finn very sneakily pulls a pillow into his lap and asks, flushing a little, if they can watch that part again.

The second time, Kurt talks about dance technique and symbolism and how he’s totally cast the entire song for the glee girls ( _pop_ , Tina, for the sweet-rough sarcasm; _six_ , Quinn, for the dangerous desperate-housewife refinement; _squish_ , Mercedes, because she called dibs on that guy dancer’s abs the first time they watched it; _uh-uh_ , Rachel, because she would commit to the language use and drama, as well as bring in her ballet experience; _Cicero_ , Santana, “Need I say more?”; _Lipschitz_ , Brittany, because her Britney Spears epiphany convinced him she could pull it off). By the time they finish the song again, Finn is maybe drooling a little and wondering if Rachel could really lift her leg that high, but he’s not all that embarrassed because Kurt sighs and gets all boneless and smiley every time Taye Diggs appears on screen.

Their conversation dwindles as the movie goes on and Finn gets more into it, and it’s not until Roxie is walking around in some black nowhere-land and talking with some kind of laugh-track that he even notices that Kurt’s eyes are closed, and his breath is slow, and he’s tipped just a little bit into Finn, leaning on his arm.

Finn is only wary for a second before remembering how exhausted Kurt has looked since he found him, and he still doesn’t know what happened in that locker room, and Kurt just apologized--like, a lot--for being a creepy stalker last year and he’s done absolutely nothing creepy or stalkerish to Finn in ages, and then all of that is overshadowed by the sudden realization that for the first time since Finn lost his temper with him last year, Kurt is letting him be his friend.

He smiles a little and turns his attention back to the movie.  He only moves once, when his arm is falling asleep, to tentatively settle it around Kurt’s shoulders.  Around his _brother’s_ shoulders.  He leans back into the corner of the couch, careful not to wake Kurt up, and sighs.

-

When he opens his eyes again, the room is a lot darker, and there’s a light on in the kitchen.  Kurt is still sleeping quietly on his shoulder, one arm draped across Finn’s stomach and the other curled around himself, and when and how did they get a blanket over them?

He’s answered by a voice in the kitchen.

“…don’t know what it is, Carole.  He just doesn’t look right.”

“Do you think something happened?”  His mom.  When did she even get here?

“I don’t know.  And I can’t stand it.  I used to know.”  A beat.  “His mom always knew.”

“Honey, he’s a teenager.  They have entire lives made up of what we don’t know.”  And that’s so true that Finn is kind of impressed.  “At least they’ve been keeping each other company.  I was worried for a while, especially after Finn’s reaction last week.”

“Nah, he was just being himself.”  Burt’s voice is suddenly closer, and Finn shuts his eyes.  A hand gently squeezes his shoulder, then moves a little, maybe to the top of Kurt’s head, and stays there a little while before going away.  “And I’m glad they’re getting along,” Burt says in a quieter voice, “but I just hope this isn’t gonna confuse Kurt.  He’s been trying real hard to respect his boundaries, you know?”

“Oh, Finn knows,” his mom says, and now she’s close too, and it’s getting a little nerve-wracking to keep pretending to be asleep.  “He’s been trying, too, after that talk we had.”  And had she _ever_ given him a talk.  He’s still pretty sure that tongue-lashing will keep him from ever uttering a slur of any kind ever again.

“Hell, I’m just happy he got him to sleep.  Kid’s been popping Ambien like candy all month, even before we told them.  I’m starting to worry he’s having nightmares again.”

His mom sighs, and Finn lifts his eyelids just a little for just long enough to see her fingers brush through Kurt’s hair.  Under the blanket, Kurt’s muscles tense for just a split-second before relaxing again, and Finn realizes that Kurt is totally faking right now, too.

“You can interrogate them tomorrow.  Let’s just let them sleep a little longer, then I can wake Finn up to go home.”

“Those crazy sisters of yours gonna let him get any shut-eye over there?”

“The hope is that they’ll wear each other down before they notice I’m gone.”

_Finally_ they’re moving away from the living room.  “How often do I got to see them again?”

“As often as it takes for them to figure out you don’t have three single brothers waiting to sweep them off their feet.”

They share a laugh, and it sounds like they’ve gone out to talk on the porch.  As soon as the door closes, Kurt shifts a little and murmurs in a crackly voice, “What time is it?”

“Dunno,” Finn mumbles back without moving, because parents or no parents, he’s still super sleepy.  “Dark out.”

Kurt sighs, big and deep, and seems to just stop himself from snuggling a little.  “Did you finish the movie?”

“Don’t think so,” Finn says.  He stretches to his full length with his arms above his head, and Kurt takes his cue to drag himself up and off him.  “The last thing I remember is, uh…what’s-his-name…doing a song about tin foil, or something.  Which was confusing.”

Kurt looks amused as he flops back against the opposite arm of the couch, but the second his back hits it he winces and goes a little bit pale, like that really really hurt, and Finn wakes up right away.  “You okay?”

“…Cellophane,” he says breathlessly after taking a moment, easing himself away from the couch’s arm until he’s back against the cushions while Finn draws his legs back to give him room.  He swallows hard, takes another breath.  “Not tin foil.  ‘Mr. Cellophane.’”  He tilts his head back against the couch cushion, closing his eyes.  Breathes.  Opens them.  “That was my audition song for glee.”

He never answered if he was okay, but it looks like he still doesn’t want to talk about it, so Finn doesn’t ask again.  “Really?”

“Mm-hm.  Always fun to see people’s faces the first time they realize this voice is actually coming from me, but Mr. Schue’s was particularly priceless.”

“You ever find out why that is?”

“Why what is?”

“Why your voice never changed.”  It seems like a weird thing to ask about, and he vaguely hopes that he isn’t being offensive, but he’s still not totally awake and has kind of been curious about that for a while now.  “I mean, I think all of us just assume you’ve got ninja vocal cords, but have you ever gotten, like, checked out to see why they’re different?”

Kurt‘s eyebrows twitch curiously, like he’s actually never been asked that before.  “Not really, no.  I’m not sure why, it just isn’t something that ever came up.  And anyway, by this point it’s…it’s a part of me.  If I woke up tomorrow and sounded like the rest of you guys, I think I would probably have some sort of breakdown.”

“Huh.  That makes sense, though.”

“Mm.  And it’s not like I have zero low range.  Need I remind you of the funk number that broke all of your brains?”

Finn laughs.  “Oh man.  I totally forgot about that.”

“I think Brittany still thinks I was lip-synching, even though I looked her dead in the eye and said,” he shifts his voice down, down, down, “‘No, Brittany, I am not lip-synching.’”

And it’s still so weird to hear that come out of Kurt that Finn laughs harder.  “Puck was totally freaked out for like the whole rest of the day.”

“Puck was?  Really?”

“Yeah, dude.  You kind of blew his mind.  When Vocal Adrenaline was here and you were doing the intro and we were backstage, he was, like, _twitching_.  You gave him a tic.”

Kurt laughs.  “Puck is rendered powerless by my low-voice.  Thank you, Finn, for giving me this weapon.  I will use it well, and entirely for my own benefit.”

Finn sits bolt upright and his eyes get huge, a totally awesome idea popping into his head.  “Dude.  _Dude._ You _have_ to talk like that all day on April Fool’s Day next year.”

“Wow, you just got way too excited at the prospect of this.  Though that actually might not be a bad idea.”

“It would be so _epic_.”

“Or I could only use it with certain people.  Make them think they’re going crazy.”  His eyebrows lift, and a calculating glitter touches his eyes.  “I could convince them I’m possessed by Satan.”

 Finn is dying, gripping the couch so he doesn’t roll right off, his eyes tearing because that might be the most awesome thing he’s ever heard.  “Oh my _God_.  Seriously, I bet no one messes with you the whole week.”

And that might not have been the right thing to say, because something happens in Kurt’s face, and his smile doesn’t go away, but it kind of stops looking as real.  “I will consider it.”

Suddenly it isn’t that funny anymore, and they fall into silence that isn’t totally comfortable.  Finn clears his throat.  “Uh.  So, I’ve got some stuff.  For, uh, for bruises.”  Kurt studies his nails in the dark and doesn’t look at him.  “It won’t mess your skin up or anything.  My mom started getting it for me when I joined peewee football and I still use it all the time.  It really helps.  I can bring it when I pick you up tomorrow?”

After a second, Kurt nods, and wow, he’s really good at not talking about this stuff.  He starts running his thumbnail under each of the other nails on his hand, which has moved a little in front of his mouth like he’s worried about something.

“Oh, and I can totally cover for you if you need to sit out for a little while at rehearsal tomorrow.  I mean, you had all the moves down after like the second run-through, and you didn’t give yourself any solos or anything, so I don’t think anyone would think it’s weird if you just, you know, supervised.”

“Finn.”

Finn looks up, wondering when he got nervous.  Kurt looks calm, and still bone-tired, and something else that’s hard to name.  “I’m okay.”  He smiles a little, weakly.  “But thank you.”  He looks down a second, and when he looks back up, the smile is real.  “Thank you for today.  For everything.”

Finn smiles back and nudges Kurt’s leg with his foot.  “No problem.”

“There they are.”  Both of them start at Burt’s voice, then yelp and hide when the overhead light turns on.

“Dad!” Kurt whines while Finn squints against the total blindness that just happened to him.

Burt chuckles a little, and Finn’s mom comes in after him.  “Sorry, boys,” she says.  “Did we wake you up?”

“Uh.  Kinda,” Finn admits, still blinking hard.  Kurt is busy shoving his face into a pillow.  “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” she says.  “When did you guys fall asleep?”

“Seven,” Kurt mumbles into the pillow.

Finn shrugs.  “During the tin foil song.”  Kurt clears his throat.  “Wait, no.  Cellophane.  That one.”

“Kurt, you got him to watch a musical?” his mom says, sounding super impressed, and Finn rolls his eyes because he’s totally watched musicals before today.  “You are a man of many talents.”  She pats Kurt fondly on the back, and Finn tries not to wince when Kurt tries not to wince.

“Well, it is ‘Chicago.’  I apologize in advance for any repercussions of what was seen.”

His mom smiles at Kurt before looking at Finn.  "Come on, sweetie.  I have enough trouble getting you out of bed in the mornings as it is," she says, and Finn reluctantly swings his legs around and lurches to his feet.  Kurt follows suit and perches on the arm of the couch,  looking small and super-snuggly in his sweats with his bangs all sticking up, and Finn has to fight the urge to ruffle his hair.  "Thanks for keeping this one out of trouble," his mom says to Kurt, and he just smiles a little and shakes his head.

"Hey," Burt says, clapping a hand on Finn's shoulder.  "You awake enough to be driving, kiddo?"

"Yeah," Finn says, and he throws a glance at Kurt because Burt only ever calls _him_ 'kiddo' and the last time Burt started treating Finn like family, Kurt sort of had a giant identity crisis.  But Kurt seems a little lost in thought, so Finn shakes his attention back to Burt.  "Yeah, I'm good."

"Okay.  We'll talk about all these damn boxes of pizza I can't eat later."

"Finn can take them," Kurt says, and Finn perks up right then and there, because _score_.

"That's sweet, honey, but if all this is sitting around tempting me at our house, I won't be able to fit into my wedding gown on Saturday," Finn's mom says, laughing.

Finn rolls his eyes, because what is it that adults have against pizza?  "Orrr I could take it and bring it to lunch tomorrow and let the glee club take care of whatever's left?"

And by that he means he'll polish off his half-and-half pizza by himself and bring some slices of veggie for Kurt, and then sit there and watch him and make sure he actually eats something tomorrow.

Burt and his mom seem to like the idea, but now he's not really paying attention to them because mentioning the glee club put the song from before back in his head, which put the idea from before back in his head, which is what makes him palm his phone in his pocket to make sure he remembers.

Then his mom is ushering him out of the living room, and Kurt and Burt are both looking at him with the exact same kind-of amused expression--and wow, they actually look super-alike right now--and Finn hopes he didn't just space out anything too important.

"Pizzas, honey," his mom says, and he mutters, "Oh, yeah," and grabs the boxes from the dining room.  He looks for his backpack for a second before remembering that it's in his car with his jacket, so he heads back to set the pizzas down by Kurt so he doesn’t have to watch Burt and his mom kissing goodbye.  "So we're doing the rehearsal dinner thing tomorrow night, right?"

Kurt nods.  "Seven thirty sharp, in full dress."

"Gotta warn you, I kind of suck at tying ties.  And putting in those flower thingies."

"I can help you."

He keeps his eyes down while he says it, but Finn smiles a big, triumphant grin anyway because Kurt _totally_ wouldn't have even offered at this time yesterday.  Kurt looks up, his mouth twitches, and he crosses his arms.  "What?"

"Nothing," Finn says, finally giving in to temptation and ruffling Kurt's hair, earning an indignant squawk and a slap on the arm.  "See you in the morning!"

"Try that again, and _no one_ will see _you_ in the morning."

"Boys," Burt says across the room.  "Play nice."

Kurt rolls his eyes and points at Finn with a warning glare that totally makes him look just like his dad again, and Finn chuckles, picking up the boxes again.  "I'll pick you up at quarter after seven.  That cool?"

"I'll be here."

"We should totally watch the rest of the movie after the dinner tomorrow."

"If I'm still conscious, and if _someone_ in here doesn't try to sneak barbecue ribs and therefore kill me with stress," he glares at Burt, "then I would love to."

"Awesome."

"All right, Finn," his mom says.  "Let's get you home so you can waste the extra sleep on video games with Noah and panic when you sleep in tomorrow."

"Enjoy it while you can," Burt says.  "Once you're under my roof, that stuff isn't gonna fly."

"The Hummels are a clan of morning people," Kurt explains, shrugging.  "Right down to Aunt Mildred."

"Oh, yeah."  Finn makes a face, hoping it looks like he's joking and not like he's totally horrified, because uh, that's totally horrifying.  "I think I remember that."

Burt claps him on the back in passing.  "See you tomorrow."

Finn would wave back, but his hands are full of pizza boxes, so he sort of awkwardly flaps an elbow and glances at Kurt once more before following his mom out the door.

Kurt smiles lightly back at him, and his eyes curve and crinkle at the sides, and Finn is really, really glad he came.

-

Before he pulls out of the driveway, he pulls out his phone.

_**> >You:** secret mtg in aud tmrw aftr glee. dont tell kurt_

_**> >Puck:** i knew it ur gonna propose_

_**> >Artie:** ooh, secret plan._

_**> >Rach:** Finn Hudson, where have you been? I've been texting all night! If this is about what I said to you about Kurt, it's clearly something we need to talk about. Of course I'll be there tomorrow but yo_

_**> >Sam:** ORly?_

_**> >Quinn:** As long as you aren’t planning a rumble, I’ll be there._

_**> >Cedes:** this had better be good, white boy._

_**> >Brit:** whats an aud_

_**> >Santana:** knew you'd crack. tell puckerman he owes me $20_

_**> >Tina:** :)_

_**> >Mike:** k_


End file.
